


Trust

by Dwimordene



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: 3rd Age - The Stewards, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2005-01-24
Packaged: 2018-04-06 08:41:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4215203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dwimordene/pseuds/Dwimordene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because without it, love is meaningless.</p><p>Another in the <a href="http://www.dwimordenespage.org/index.php?go=6&id=14">Best-loved Son</a> series, occurring between <i>Discretion</i> and <i>Discovery</i>, but after <i>Revelations</i>. Slash. Thanks to Isabeau for posting permission and assistance.</p><p>
  <i>1st Place 2006 <a href="http://groups.yahoo.com/group/MEFAwards/">MEFA</a>s—Drama: General</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Histories

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

A decided chill had settled over the Seventh Circle of Minas Tirith, despite the warmth of the early summer. It was not simply that the Dark Lord's forces had resumed their testing of Gondor's defenses along Anduin with a worrying vigor this spring; nor was it the news out of Edoras of more incursions and horse-thievery, which had sent men speculating as to whether Théoden had strength enough to rule in these troubled times. Nor could the tension in the Citadel be blamed upon Faramir's presence for once—not only was he in Ithilien, but he had been there much of the winter, and his brief return for Yule had not been marked by any particular quarrels between himself and his father.  
  
No, for a wonder, the rather frosty atmosphere had its source in the Captain-General, who had returned home from a private errand to Lossarnach on his father's behalf not ten days past. Those who knew him—and who among the upper echelons of Minas Tirith did not?—might have blamed his mood on grief, for it had become known that the errand had been to one of Finduilas' maids, one Thaeryl who had been particularly close to the Steward's family, who had been gravely ill and had in fact died shortly after Boromir's arrival in Lossarnach. The Steward, being a man to balance all accounts, had always made a point to provide for the women who had served his late wife so well, especially when need reared its head, and it seemed Boromir intended to continue that policy in his own fashion. He had, after all, claimed the errand to his mother's sick maid himself, and if some thought his time better spent shuffling the army's ranks to try to cover the spring onslaught, most others were prepared to forgive him his sentimentality since it spoke well of the man behind the rank.  
  
Still, none would have expected the visit to have quite so great an effect on him as it apparently had had. It had been subtle at first, but after a few days, men had begun to notice a certain coolness of the Captain-General towards the Steward. It never gained expression in words—if words were the measure of minds, the Lord Boromir remained in perfect accord with his lord father, and the business of the kingdom was attended to by both men with their usual care and precision. In itself, this was quite unusual: despite their sometimes energetic disputes over policy, rarely did the Steward and his elder son argue to the point of anger, and when they did, the eruption was hardly a secret nor were its reasons; this cool disaffection, therefore, had the councilors of Minas Tirith walking on eggshells, uncertain what to make of it. For if Boromir appeared determined to maintain a chill courtesy with his father, his manner was of late far more brusque with others, who found themselves subjected to the Captain-General's mercurial temper and to the impatience that lurked ever behind his energy.  
  
Thus it was almost a relief when the messenger from Dol Amroth arrived with the ill tidings of an unusually bold Corsair raid on Gondor's western shores. For along with that news, he had brought word that the Prince of Dol Amroth intended to convene a council, and after some debate, Denethor had named Boromir Minas Tirith's representative. The Captain-General had at first protested—he had quite enough to do with managing the assault on Ithilien. "I may pass my days in the City, but my nights are in Osgiliath, and all other time is spent on the roads between the two. It cannot last much longer—I shall have to return for the season as soon as matters here are arranged," Boromir had argued. "Send another!"  
  
"The Captain-General of Gondor is not concerned with one patch of earth, nor only with the army. Faramir can hold command for a fortnight. Besides which, you had time enough for Lossarnach," Denethor had pointedly reminded his son, which had proved a more effective means of silencing Boromir than any might have guessed. After a few moments' silence, Boromir had acquiesced.  
  
"It shall be as you command, then, my lord," he had said. And so it was, and inside of a week, after a flurry of letters exchanged between Osgiliath, Henneth-Annûn, and Minas Tirith, the Captain-General had taken ship out of Harlond for Dol Amroth.  
  


***

On the water, time was measured by the creak of wood and the sway of the lantern, as in the darkness, grey eyes opened suddenly on the breath of terror. The candle flickered, and the rush of water sounded all about him, as his heart pounded, loud in his ears as the current. After a moment, Boromir sighed wearily as he writhed onto his back, despite the narrow confines of a ship's berth, and stared up at the decking. _I hate the dark_ , he thought. Every man did who knew what moved in it; every man did who had lost friends to the creatures of the darkness. Every man did who lived beneath the shadow of the east, and Boromir had hated the darkness even as a boy. For darkness was the herald of worse things than the mere absence of light. Almost without thinking, he slid a hand under his pillow; beside the dagger he kept there, lay his purse, and within it, a messenger's case. No writ for Imrahil, no princely address lay within, but the words of a dying woman that had drawn back to mind the knowledge that the child he had been had striven to forget. Drawn back to mind the dread of the darkness, of the coming of sunset—the coming of discord.

 _They called it a wasting illness. But I saw the cup that day, and I knew. So did your lord father_. So spoke the dying woman, over and over again, alive in memory and refusing the grave decently earned. Boromir squeezed his eyes shut and endeavored to make his mind go utterly blank, tried not to let his thoughts follow down the dark paths they had strayed upon of late. _Father knew. And I knew, too—not the end, but the way; the long way down, from words to blows. Words I can spit; blows, though..._ He did not know. On the battlefield, certainly he could deal in blows; in the bedroom... in the bedroom, there were words, at least. Would there ever be more than that? Were his habits—rough as they had grown in fact—portents of worse to come? _How much my father's son am I?_ The uncertainty lay like a canker on his soul, and he was afraid of the answer.

Which might come all too soon, he knew. Dol Amroth was not simply the seat of the council of Western Gondor, and chief city of Belfalas—it was home to Andrahar of Umbar, armsmaster, captain, and lately, had others but known it, 'consort' to the Steward's Heir. Andrahar had forced him to rescind the last title, deeming it undignified, and Boromir's lips twitched in a hint of a smile at the memory of that most pleasurable wrestling match. But his humor faded swiftly, as through the lens of recent revelations, their bedtime sport took on a different and crooked cast. And the evening had ended as all the others had: Boromir on his back, Andrahar above him. Never the other way around. He knew the reasoning for that arrangement—Andrahar was nothing if not frank when cornered by necessity. And yet...

 _'You_ are _a lad compared to me'_ , Andrahar had told him the first time they had ever lain together, six years ago. The Armsmaster was no greybeard, but neither was he young. It was a long way from the streets of Umbar for him; a long way for one who had every reason to hate the coming of night for the awful memories it must bring. Andrahar was no coward to give willingly to Boromir what once had been sold to faceless men, or even taken by force against his will simply because a lad on the streets forfeited all choice. It was little enough that Andrahar demanded of him, taken in light of a dreadful childhood, where to lie beneath another was to lay oneself open to a savaging, to "admit" one's "rightful" place in a society that never allowed one to forget, even in bed, who was master, who was slave. Who would wish to return to that, especially when mastery sometimes meant not simply pleasing oneself only, but wounding the one beneath you? And yet...

 _He is no coward, and he knows I give no such meaning to the act._ Therein lay the crux of the matter, as Boromir had lately come to conceive it. Andrahar was not one to fear aught from him, yet it was always Boromir who ended beneath him. Always. In his mind's eye, he saw his mother's face tighten, just ere his father rose... _"Close your eyes..."_

Swallowing the bile that burned in his throat, Boromir thrust the unwelcome conclusion back down. _Rest while you can, for this time, Dol Amroth shall be no refuge for you...._

***

It was a bright, fair day in Dol Amroth—the sort of day for which the coastal city was justly famous. The breeze that blew in from the bay smelled of salt and had the flags flapping gaily, as it carried the gulls far inland. The streets were crowded, for no one wished to be indoors on such a day. Particularly when a council full of ill-tempered, anxious, downright solemn lords awaited one there, one might be glad to find an excuse to take to the streets, and Andrahar, loitering about Dol Amroth's docks, was relieved indeed to be spared the mood at the keep.

It was hardly the season for such conciliar gatherings, nor was it wholly convenient, but then again, surprise attacks were hardly meant to render matters convenient. It was usual enough for summer to bring orc raids, and clashes along the Haradric border with Haradric "mercenaries", but it seemed that barely had summer begun this year than the Haradrim—all unofficially of course—had begun to press Gondor, hard, by land and sea. Indeed, one of their first acts had been to avenge, at long last, the humiliation that Thorongil had inflicted upon them during the Battle of Umbar: a month earlier, aided by a warm spring and an early turn of seasons, the Corsairs had burned four towns in the Langstrand, one after the other, and then disappeared back out to sea. And since bad news, Andrahar reflected, spread like fire, Imrahil had soon enough been besieged by letters and messages from frightened, outraged lords demanding an explanation of how such could possibly happen.

Personally, Andrahar was somewhat contemptuous of such questions. "They did not ask how it was possible that Thorongil took the docks at Hurrhabi in Umbar, but hailed it as only what should have been done long before," he had huffed to Imrahil one evening. The Prince had earlier retired from the hall and foregone the pleasure of the nightly paperwork for once in favor of some peace, quiet, and a good bottle of brandy. Andrahar, noting that last item, had quietly invited himself to join his lord and blood brother, and not simply because Imrahil's taste in liquor was exquisite. Although it had been two years since Adrahil's death, and Imrahil seemed to have accepted the burden of leadership gracefully, Andrahar knew him well enough to know when Imrahil might need a friend's company. "And to take those docks and the shipyards was a sight more difficult a task than slipping a ship or two past Dol Amroth's fleet to strike harbors that will put up little more than a weatherguard for their own protection. They've grown complacent behind Dol Amroth and the north."

"Now, Andra," Imrahil had said, with fond exasperation, gently swirling the brandy in his glass, "have a little pity for those who have not seen war yet. They shall get a gutful of it soon enough, as we both know. It is just the shock of it—the west has been mostly peaceful since Thorongil's raid, and before that, incursions were largely around the bay, not back along the western coasts. Even the raids in Beren's day did not reach so far."

"Pity I have for those harmed; but stupidity deserves none," had been Andrahar's unapologetic reply. Then: "What will you do?"

Imrahil had sighed. "Send what help I can, of course. And I think it would be well to call a conference of the western lords. Not," the Prince had said quickly in response to the rather thunderous look on Andrahar's face, "as a means of placating them only. In all seriousness, Andra, you have seen the reports from our spies and from Boromir and Faramir; we speak frequently on matters military and you have been to the front in Harondor training esquires. This is but the first test of Umbar's power after many years' rebuilding. War is coming— _the_ war is coming, and it would be best to prepare for it a little at a time. But not too soon, nor yet again too late. It is a matter of timing, and it may be that what has happened in Langstrand need not be a tragedy only. After all, bruises teach best, do they not?"

At that, Andrahar had snorted, but he had smiled that wolf-white smile of his that all esquires quickly learned to fear. "I have found them very effective, certainly. Though how you shall convince them to see four burned out villages as a 'bruise', I have no idea."

"It shall not be easy, but it shall be done," Imrahil had replied firmly. "The messengers shall go out tomorrow, since we should see to this as swiftly as possible. And one must go to Minas Tirith—the Steward must be informed of the attack, and also of our plans." And when Andrahar had grimaced, Imrahil had chuckled and clicked his tongue at him like he would at a sulky child. "Give Denethor his due, Andra. Never has he dismissed as of little importance any breach of Gondor's borders, nor done less than his duty."

"Mayhap not, but you know that he will remind you of this in the future."

"I don't doubt it. Ah well," the Prince mused philosophically, staring at the candlelight's refraction through his glass. "Were it not for Denethor, whom would I have to put me in my place from time to time?" And there, for a moment, had been the grief that Andrahar had waited for all evening. Once, the answer had been "Nimrien", and when that could no longer be said, it had been, "Your father". But Adrahil was more than a year in the tomb. And so Andrahar, scowling, had growled only:

"Me, of course, you sot!"

Imrahil had laughed at that. And then he had raised his glass, and said gratefully, "To old friends."

"In spite of it all," Andrahar had finished their private toast.

That had been weeks ago, and the messengers had long since returned bearing word of those who would come. Not that anyone would ignore such a summons, but some brought sons or captains with them, that they might hear the news as well, and be better prepared for the future. And to Andrahar's (pleased) surprise, the messenger to Minas Tirith had returned to say that the Steward would be sending the Captain-General to them as his representative. Given that the war season was now well underway, Andrahar had rather expected Denethor to send someone else—Lord Húrin, perhaps, or some other counselor not bound to a military post. However, he would hardly complain of seeing Boromir again, and Imrahil had certainly brightened at the prospect of seeing his nephew, which had pleased Andrahar as well.

Ordinarily, however, he would have been overseeing the esquires, and seen Boromir no sooner than the Prince himself did if not later than that, but Imrahil had had other ideas that morning. "Boromir ought to arrive this afternoon, and I need someone to fill him in on the news since the messengers left for Minas Tirith."

"You mean you need someone to take him in hand, since he never did get his sea-legs," Andrahar corrected, and Imrahil grinned.

"That, too, and I think he would prefer it if you were his escort. Who better than one who shares his dislike of the sea?" Imrahil had said, and grinned at Andrahar, who glared at him, but did not correct his prince, either. "So tell Peloren he'll have to mind the esquires on his own until the council is finished—you're off to the docks this day," the Prince had ordered, and Andrahar had been only too happy to comply.

At the moment, there were three ships in the harbor flying Minas Tirith's colors, and a fourth had just put bow to berth. Andrahar watched as the dockworkers and sailors hurried to secure it and bring the gangplank. At length, as men made their way down to the docks, a familiar figure appeared. Though he had learned to hold his own on the river, Boromir had never been much of a seafarer, but he had learned how to disembark without falling over. Still, once upon steady ground, the Captain-General leaned against one of the dock posts, pretending to examine some missive that he dredged out of his purse. He was still feigning it when Andrahar approached and hailed him.

"Uncle, 'tis good to see you," Boromir replied, blinking twice and giving an odd, swift shake of his head; when the two men clasped arms, his grip was harder than affection warranted.

"Likewise," Andrahar replied, and then, in a lower voice: "Steady, lad! Rough passage?"

"Summer storm round the cape," Boromir replied. "Haven't felt right since then."

"Are you going to be sick?" the captain asked, ever practical.

"In front of everyone? That would be poor form," Boromir replied, with just a hint of wryness to his voice, and gave Andrahar a reassuring final squeeze ere releasing him. "I'm fine, Andra. I may not be much of a sailor, but I've always been quick to recover."

"True enough," Andrahar acknowledged, and, with a wave to the porter who was hovering nearby with the Captain-General's trunk, began steering Boromir towards the street. "Nevertheless, since your Uncle charged me not only to escort you home, but to tell you of recent events here, I hope pride will not be offended that I commandeered the carriage." Boromir shook his head at that, his resigned expression indicating that he knew very well that Andrahar would not have cared overmuch if pride _were_ offended—in any task that touched upon the safety of any member of the Prince of Dol Amroth's family, Andrahar would do as he judged best unless one were willing to invoke the privileges of rank or to mount a lengthy and careful attack upon his reasoning. As Boromir was generally willing to do neither in Andrahar's case, the Armsmaster's task was rendered considerably easier on them both.

But this time, had he glanced over his shoulder, he might have seen a brief flicker of unease darken Boromir's countenance. Only for a moment, and another might have attributed it to Boromir's lingering discomfort, but the Armsmaster was an observant man; one did not survive the streets of Umbar without a good eye for men's dispositions. But Boromir mastered himself a moment later, and by the time the two of them settled in the carriage, no trace of that emotion remained.

***

"So," Imrahil asked, and handed Boromir a glass of brandy, "how go matters in Minas Tirith? How is your father?" The Prince poured a glass for himself and then stoppered the decanter; from long association, he knew not to offer any to Andrahar when the Armsmaster considered himself to be on duty.

The three of them were ensconced in the Prince's dayroom. As soon as they had reached the castle, Andrahar had sent a runner to inform Imrahil that his nephew had arrived, and barely had they reached Boromir's room than the lad had returned, requesting the presence of the Captain-General and the Captain of the Swan Knights in Imrahil's chambers. The Prince had greeted his nephew lovingly, embracing him ere he held him at arm's length for avuncular scrutiny, and then had given a dramatic sigh and declared himself relieved to see him: "For you have saved me from another hour with Golasgil."

"Anfalas is making a nuisance of himself?" Boromir had inquired.

"As ever," Imrahil had replied, and he and Andrahar had shared a knowing look. For Andrahar especially had no reason to remember Golasgil with any fondness; indeed, he took a great satisfaction in watching the Lord of Anfalas quietly seethe over his presence at Imrahil's elbow. But that did not mean that he enjoyed seeing the man or even thinking of him, and so he had been grateful when Imrahil had made a dismissive gesture and said, "But let us leave him for the council tomorrow."

And so instead, they had turned to more familiar matters. Boromir took a sip of his brandy, considering his reply to his uncle's question ere he shrugged and answered, "As the Steward goes, so goes the city. Father watches the Enemy's movements with concern, and business with Rohan is growing more difficult. Théoden's advisors seem to be pulling him in two directions lately." The Captain-General shook his head over that, and grimaced. "If he would but move his nephew back to court and send Elfhelm to the Eastfold, matters would improve there."

"Is Elfhelm among those who would see fewer ties to Gondor?" Imrahil asked.

"No, but he is no kin to the king, and not much of a speaker—solid captain, no doubt of that from what I have seen of him, but when last I was in Rohan, he did not strike me as one who aspires to be more than a captain. In a Marshal, that may be a good thing for a strong king, but in these times—?" Boromir drew a finger across his throat. "A counselor is needed. Éomer would be the better choice, even if, as Father says, he is headstrong and impulsive at times. But he is far from Edoras and can do little. Father worries that the Rohirrim may not be ready for war when it comes if this continues. But what can he do? We have our own troubles, and overmuch pressure from him might strengthen the opposition in Meduseld."

"That is unfortunate," Imrahil murmured, and for a time was silent. Andrahar watched the Prince's brow knit, as he ran through the implications of trouble in Rohan. But as there was little Dol Amroth could do to help or hinder matters in that arena, Imrahil shook his head and asked then, "Speaking of our own troubles, how fares your brother?"

"Harried. Worried. The Orcs multiply and they are testing us hard, though the line holds still and I think is not in any danger of failing. Still, 'tis a bad time to be a Ranger, or else the best of times, depending upon how one looks upon the matter. Certainly they are sorely needed," Boromir replied, sounding worried himself. But he did smile slightly, and chuckle, as he added, "In his latest missive, Faramir claims he is happy to report that none have complained of boredom yet this season."

Andrahar snorted at that. "Cheeky lad. That tongue of his may one day bring him trouble. No complaints, indeed!" Imrahil chuckled and raised his glass briefly in silent salute of his younger nephew.

"And yourself?"

Boromir shrugged again. "Well enough. I have been up and down the length of Ithilien more than once since the weather turned in March, and am often between Osgiliath and Minas Tirith lately. But Faramir speaks also for me—I cannot complain of being underused, and the line does hold."

"I suppose that given all your travels, you will have had little time for courting, either," his uncle observed, raising a brow.

"I have not, much to Father's chagrin," Boromir replied, and tossed off the rest of his brandy in a single gulp. He grimaced slightly, for it was strong stuff, but then settled back in his seat and gestured to Imrahil with the empty glass. "And now that I am fortified, Uncle, you may proceed with the chiding and the recitation of The List."

Imrahil laughed, but he held up a hand, declining the invitation. "I am not so heartless as to accost a man on so intimate a matter ere he has been an hour in Dol Amroth, Boromir. Another time, for in truth, The List has quite a few ladies upon it." Boromir groaned, and Imrahil's wicked smile grew briefly broader, ere he banished it to say in all seriousness, "For the moment, I will say only that I do worry that neither you nor Faramir are wed; with the Enemy pressing us hard this year, misfortune may carry the day with one or both of you. As the Prince of Dol Amroth, I am of course concerned that the House of Húrin continue; but as your uncle, I would be greatly grieved if there were nothing left of either of you."

"I know," Boromir replied, in a gentler tone of voice, and Andrahar lowered his eyes, suddenly absorbed in studying his hands, which were clasped before him. He was not a man well suited to deal with sentiment himself, and he knew it, but even so, witnessing such displays, he felt... awkward. It was not a feeling he enjoyed, particularly not when, in addition, he had his own reasons to dread both the prospect of losing Boromir wholly to war, but equally the solution, however much sense it made and however much he himself prodded Boromir to marry. Fortunately, the moment did not last, as Boromir gave his uncle a wry smile and said, "At least I have no such worries about you. How are my cousins?"

And so the conversation turned then to the doings of Imrahil's children, and since the Prince was both a proud and doting father and possessed also of a silver tongue, the most mundane events acquired a meaningful hilarity. By the time the servants looked in to announce that supper was ready, and would the Prince care to have his nephew's dish sent up with his own, even the Armsmaster had laughed a time or two. "Please do so," Imrahil said, and then added, "and send another plate for Andrahar. Andra," he continued without missing a beat, smoothly forestalling his friend before Andrahar could do more than open his mouth to protest, "you are no longer on duty. The guard has changed—you will note the sun is setting as we speak, and Peloren has charge of the esquires until such time as the council has closed. So, you have no excuse—join us. Besides, you cannot convince me that you would not benefit by a night off ere you are reduced to kicking your heels at the doors to the council chambers, to say nothing of listening to some of the arguments we shall doubtless endure."

At that, Andrahar was forced to acquiesce, and he even laughed a little at being outmaneuvered. And in truth, a night off was not unwelcome, particularly since it meant a little more (and much more substantial) time in company he had long missed. His gaze drifted to Boromir, who met it an instant, ere the Captain-General reached for the brandy decanter. It was never safe to look too long, and both knew it. Even though Andrahar did not truly worry that the Prince would object should he discover their affair, it might make matters awkward— _More awkward_ , Andrahar amended to himself—when next he faced the Steward. And so he schooled his thoughts, and accepted a glass from Boromir, and settled in for a more relaxed evening than he had allowed himself for quite some time.

And later, after a lengthy and enjoyable supper, and a long and meandering conversation among family, there were other forms of companionship to enjoy. It was long ere Boromir or Andrahar slept, and when the sinking moon shone through the windows of Boromir's chamber, its light fell upon them both—dark skin on pale, they lay twined about each other in exhausted slumber.

***

It was barely dawn the next day when Andrahar knocked on Imrahil's door. There was no immediate answer, which did not wholly surprise the Armsmaster, and so he waited patiently until the Prince's esquire cracked the door open. But seeing who it was, the young man quickly stood back and bowed him in with a murmured "Good morning, sir."

"Good morrow," Andrahar replied, and from the table before the window, Imrahil raised an eyebrow as bleary grey eyes flicked over the Armsmaster's immaculate appearance. "My prince," he offered, crisply.

"I think it one of your more repulsive traits, Andra, that you must be ever so terribly proper and alert at this hour," Imrahil replied by way of greeting, and clutched his teacup closer.

"I do but return the favor of the last evening. You need to get out of this castle for a ride before you face the morning session," Andrahar replied. And when Imrahil sighed, he added, in his most persuasive manner, "If, however, you wish to spend the entire day cooped in a council chamber, fairly tied to your chair, with no better company than the disgruntled lords of Gondor, then I need not remain."

Imrahil considered this for a moment, then downed his tea in a single swallow and rose, reaching for his cloak. "When you put it that way," he said, and Andrahar smiled slightly.

Within a quarter hour, they were underway, just the two of them. They could not go far, of course, but the shorter distance meant that there was no real need to spare their mounts. Usually, Andrahar had the advantage in such races, given his lighter frame and also the fact that his usual mount was a match even for Imrahil's great grey charger. However, Andrahar had foregone the pleasure of riding Rahur, his notoriously foul-tempered stallion, since in truth, he was not much in the mood to create challenges for himself today. When they reached the bottom of the gentle slope atop which sat Dol Amroth, his lead was therefore appreciably smaller than usual, though he won cleanly enough. On unspoken agreement, they gave the horses their heads, and if the pace was not nearly so frantic, they rode at a good clip, and the damp morning air licked over them.

When at length, they finally reined their horses in to a comfortably brisk walk, Imrahil urged his stallion closer so that he was knee to knee with Andrahar, and said, "Well, I shall own that that was invigorating, and that I am grateful."

"You're welcome," Andrahar replied.

"And now that that is acknowledged, it is my turn. What prompted this outing?"

"You needed it." Imrahil snorted.

"You might as easily have asked for a sparring match, and gotten a lesson out of it for the esquires you've been forced to abandon to Peloren's tender mercies since yesterday," the Prince countered. "What so pressing that Dol Amroth's confines seem too narrow for it?"

The difficulty with having perceptive friends, Andrahar had discovered long ago, was much the same as the difficulty with having perceptive enemies: they tended to perceive precisely what you wished them not to, at just the wrong moment. In truth, he had suggested riding because it was a form of exercise that would afford him the opportunity to think, whereas sparring, particularly with a swordsman of Imrahil's quality, demanded the sort of fine-honed attention that made careful musings impossible. And as for the narrow confines of Dol Amroth...

Andrahar had awakened early that morning and crept from bed and lover to don his somewhat rumpled uniform and slip back to the chamber within the castle that he used whenever his morning business required him to be in the keep rather than on the field. There, he had washed thoroughly and climbed into a clean set of clothes before going to stand at the window and watch for the first hint of dawn. And while he had waited, he had considered the vague feeling of unease that he had awakened with that day. It was, he had realized, the same feeling he had fallen asleep with. However, he had been too weary at the time to give it any attention, and in truth had not expected it to linger. And yet it had, and so he had set himself to scrutinizing it.

He had not left Imrahil with that feeling the night before, of that he was certain, which had sent him back to the bedroom, to Boromir, and Andrahar had frowned as he reconsidered how matters had gone there. There were limits to every relationship, but the one that weighed most heavily on the pair was that of time. Short hours made for a narrow bed, as it were: the knowledge that every tryst was but a brief interruption of the long months of separation lent a certain hurried intensity to their lovemaking that remained ever with them, no matter how they came together. Hence nights tended to be long and tiring affairs as they grasped for time. Certainly, the night before had left Andrahar pleasantly fatigued, despite a couple of somewhat uncomfortable moments. Nor was it that Andrahar was adverse to playing rough or being played roughly, within limits, but he had winced a few times from Boromir's attentions and he had spent longer than usual that morning checking for incriminating marks. Still, Andrahar was not convinced he had uncovered the source of his unease, for as in war, so in love: one took one's chances in bed; sometimes one misjudged and the other suffered a little for it. It had happened before, to both of them, but such minor discomfort had never hindered their enjoyment before.

 _So what is it, then, that troubles me? And what shall I tell Imri?_ Andrahar wondered, aware that his friend was growing concerned by his silence. He could hardly tell him the truth, but he had never been particularly comfortable lying to him, either. And so he settled for the best compromise he could manage: "My dreams troubled me last night, and I, too, shall be trapped in the conference hall today. A little air seemed called for."

"What dreams, if I may ask?" Andrahar shrugged.

"Umbar, the streets... any number of closed rooms." Which was a lie only insofar as he had not dreamed such, but bedroom anxieties, no matter what their nature, were ever haunted by memories of the past. Indeed, they had led to the end of more than one affair, and Andrahar did not much like the implication of that observation. Imrahil, however, knew nothing of his thoughts, and, as the Armsmaster had hoped, sought no further. The Prince, of all people, knew intimately how painful the past was for his oath-brother, and it was with deep sympathy that he replied:

"I did not know that you still dreamt of that, Andra."

"'Tis an uncommon dream," Andrahar replied, briskly.

"I see," Imrahil responded, and his tone made it clear that he knew very well that Andrahar was attempting to preemptively dismiss the subject before it could affect his composure. For a moment, it seemed that he might pursue the matter nevertheless, but to the Armsmaster's relief, the Prince shook his head slightly and sighed, and let it drop, though it was plain that he was troubled on his friend's behalf. Seeing that, Andrahar bit back on a grimace, for though he had had no choice but to answer in some way, he had never wished to give Imrahil cause for grief of any sort, particularly not today, when an unfriendly council chamber awaited the Prince.

As they crested a low rise, Imrahil brought his mount to a halt, and Andrahar hastily checked his horse beside him. The Prince gazed out over the scrub-covered plain that stretched before him to the white sand strip and the waves beyond. As ever, the sea seemed to have a calming effect on him. Andrahar had never truly understood that; though not a sand-rat of the deep desert himself, he had an ingrained mistrust of the ever-shifting waters and had been very glad, as a young man, to put ship to port whenever his duty to Imrahil had taken him out upon them—which in truth had been far more often than he would have preferred.

But if the sight gave Imrahil some peace and enjoyment, then he'd say nothing against it, though he felt honor-bound to remark, casually, "Why the world needs such water, I do not know."

Imrahil chuckled. "You swim in it readily enough," he replied.

"Yes, where it is safe, near the shore. 'Tis nothing a small lake could not provide. Or a river."

"You're incorrigible, you know."

"Absolutely," Andrahar agreed, deadpanned. Imrahil shook his head, chuckling, then kneed his mount to turn it back towards Dol Amroth, Andrahar following suit.

"I would ask for a rematch, but you'll forgive me if I insist upon a slower pace upon the return. No sense in hurrying home to the 'disgruntled lords of Gondor' since we've the time," Imrahil said then. It was Andrahar's turn to smile, as the two of them urged their mounts to a comfortable trot. But a moment later, he grew thoughtful once more, as his mind turned back to the matter of this strange unease that attached to Boromir. _Could it be that he is troubled, and so I am as well?_ he wondered. Boromir had much on his mind, that was clear enough, and equally, he was the Steward's Heir: happily or unhappily, he was his father's son in other ways than merely blood—if Boromir did not wish a thing to be known, he would do all he knew to hide it. But even Denethor could not keep all things hidden...

By the time he met Imrahil and Boromir outside the council chambers, he was nearly convinced that the matter might be resolved if only he could loosen Boromir's tongue later that evening. _Though how to go about that remains to be decided. How fortunate_ , he thought, wryly, _that I have naught to do today other than, as Imri put it, kick my heels at the door!_ Still, it would not be easy, and perhaps he was fooling himself to think a few questions would resolve the matter. Certainly, he had been skeptical about many more certain things in the past—indeed, was so on a regular basis when it came to matters of the safety of Dol Amroth's royal family. And so he did not silence that doubtful inner voice wholly, only ignored it for the present; there would be time enough to pursue it if matters did not become clear that night.

"Ready to face the council, gentlemen?" Imrahil asked just then, eyeing the two of them.

"Since we must."

"If we must." Andrahar's answer came at almost the same moment Boromir's did, and Imrahil laughed. Boromir, too, chuckled, and Andrahar quirked a smile, unable to help it, though he felt no particular mirth of himself. _Imrahil has always had some power to move me despite myself, and Boromir begins to. When did that happen, I wonder?_ he thought, and felt the matter of his own uneasiness the more urgent for that. But such intimate questions must wait, for Imrahil, replying to them both, said then:

"Then we shall." And he led the way in, with Boromir and Andrahar falling in tow behind him to face the unhappy assembly of the lords of Gondor.

***

As was the way of such gatherings, the council lasted through the day, and for much of it, Andrahar found himself either bored or just to one side of incensed. It was not that he knew nothing of the value of trade, or had failed to appreciate the strategic and monetary advantages it offered, but having discussed the matter extensively with Imrahil before, there was little to hold his attention, unless it were the short-sightedness of certain of the more remote western lords. Patience having never been much his strong suit in such arenas, and entirely too conscious—as he usually was in such circumstances—of the fact that he was surrounded by Gondorians, it was a trying afternoon as treaties and revenge were debated. But if he stood a Haradrim alone in council, at the end of the day, he was not alone in his assessment of the arguments.

"Can Anfalas not understand that it is not a matter of just deserts for past action, but of prudence for the future?" Boromir demanded irritably when at last the three of them withdrew to Imrahil's chambers that evening, after a rather subdued supper in the great hall. Imrahil had brought the brandy out once more, and Boromir had immediately tossed back a glass in the council's honor. He was now nursing his second, while Andrahar and Imrahil sipped more restrainedly at their drinks. "Breaking the treaty we have with the Haradrim over this offense will not help us. Or have they forgotten that that very treaty is what kept us from war when Hurrhabi was sacked?"

Andrahar grunted, shaking his head over the memory of that tense, emergency convocation which had begun so badly and ended so unexpectedly well for Gondor. It was, he admitted, one of Denethor's finest diplomatic moments, particularly given the circumstances of that raid. Andrahar, ever at Adrahil's elbow that day, had gotten the distinct impression that the Steward's Heir had been well pleased to clean up so spectacularly after Thorongil.

Not that either Ecthelion or Denethor could have claimed to be anything but in the very thick of the plans to destroy the shipyards at Umbar, and well Andrahar and Adrahil had known it, but there had been no means of challenging the story Denethor had put forth, that a Gondorian fleet exercise had just _happened_ to discover the Corsairs "using" Hurrhabi's shipyards and had fortunately been able to destroy the ships docked there. And the newly laid keels. And the harbor. And the shipyards and the timberhouses, and several businesses known to trade slaves with the Corsairs. And (of sad necessity, of course) several other naval vessels that the pirates had been "holding" at dock. All of it had been excused under the piracy articles of the treaty, which had bound both Gondor and Harad to stamp out identified pirates wherever they might be found. Umbar had got a new lord within the year, so bloody had been the fall out in Harad. Of course, fortune liked to balance such successes...

"I rather doubt," Imrahil said, dryly, "that the irony is lost on any, but none shall wish to admit it. Fortunately, none of us shall lose our heads over this matter, which is more than can be said for Lord Nazad's late and unlamented predecessor." With a wave of his hand, the Prince continued more seriously, "What is done is done. We must look to the future, as you say—this may be the very lever needed to put all the South onto a footing of war. For we know very well that it is coming. We must see that the treaty is renegotiated next year, yes, to buy us time and keep our coffers full, but the next time Gondor and Harad meet, I do not believe it will be across a table."

"True enough, " Boromir sighed, and then raised a brow at his uncle. "Indeed, this may have come at the very nick of time. You ought to see the tax schedules Father and the Exchequer are already preparing for the next five years."

"I'll see them soon enough," Imrahil replied, with more calm than one might expect from one who would be among those bearing the brunt of such taxes. "In truth, there is no avoiding the fact that we pay for war in both blood and taxes. With regard to the latter, I've had my own chancellor reviewing Dol Amroth's accounts in anticipation of an increase. But to return to our still disgruntled lords—" and here, Imrahil flashed Andrahar a grin "—we must endeavor to keep them so, that they shall not rush to war, but equally, that they shall not balk now to prepare for it. They have had their say this day; tomorrow, and every day after it, must be ours."

Which was easier said than done, of course, but necessity had mothered creativity countless times, as Andrahar had good reason to know. And, as it happened, good reason to repeat. "Need finds its own way, lad," he replied to Boromir's worry later that evening, between panting breaths. Boromir made a noise deep in his throat that might have been a muffled reply, and Andrahar groaned softly in response. Unfortunately, if he had harbored any hope that that might end the matter for the night, he was disappointed, for his lover drew off with a grimace and crept up from the foot of Andrahar's bed to lie beside him, tucking an arm beneath his head. With a sigh and a silent plea for patience, the Armsmaster asked, "What is it, Boromir?"

"So you think that Uncle can carry the council in this matter?" Boromir asked.

Andrahar frowned. "Why should he not? With your support, he should be able to persuade them. The lords of Gondor are unfortunately prone to complaints at times, but they will see the truth of your words quickly enough when forced to it by circumstance. Gondor has not quite the taste for vengeance, either, that Harad has—if Harad can wait for war, so also can Gondor." Boromir grunted at that, in a rather dispirited manner, and closed his eyes, and Andrahar bit his lip, considering this unexpected turn of affairs. Once more, that unease prickled to life, reminding him that he had hoped to speak with Boromir this night, to sound him out as to whether something troubled him. _And clearly something does. But I had rather thought to ask later..._ Still, perhaps his lover's strange mood this evening was for the best—certainly, Boromir had no grounds to deny him his concern, and so he asked, "Boromir, what is the matter?"

Boromir shrugged. But rather than answer directly, he said only, "You are right, of course. Uncle has persuaded more obstinate parties in the past; he shall surely succeed this time."

"But?" the Armsmaster prompted, and his lover sighed.

"But," Boromir said in a low voice, "I should not underestimate the desire for vengeance among Gondorians. You of all people should know better."

Which was hardly what Andrahar had expected to hear, and he blinked, surprised. "I said not that it does not exist, only that you have not the taste for it that we have in Harad. And indeed," he replied emphatically, "I, of all people, should know it—I am, after all, still alive, beyond that free, and quite whole despite the enmity of some of the highest lords of this land." Among whom, naturally, the Steward himself stood first, but there was no need to say it. At that, Boromir gave a soft snort, and the arm that he had draped about Andrahar's waist shifted, as Boromir trailed a slow, spiraling caress down his body, 'til his hand rested over the scar on Andrahar's left leg. Fingers teased gently, tracing the contours of that old mark.

"You never fear for anything, do you?" Boromir asked, opening his eyes of a sudden, and regarding Andrahar closely. And despite the lovely, dark quality to them that bespoke arousal, it was not desire that put a shiver up Andrahar's back.

"Are you _truly_ worried about the council demanding revenge?" he asked.

"Should I not be?" came the rejoinder. Before he could reply, though, the hand on his leg moved, as Boromir drew it up the inside of his thigh, brushing lightly against Andrahar's loins with the palm of his hand... and then suddenly withdrew with what sounded like a frustrated sigh when Andrahar drew his fingers down the line of Boromir's spine, pausing to rub suggestively just beneath his tailbone.

"Boromir?" Andrahar asked, confused, nonetheless ceasing his attentions just as swiftly.

"Sorry, Andra. I fear I'm not quite in the mood tonight," Boromir replied after a moment, squeezing his eyes shut again.

"You could have said so earlier, lad," Andrahar admonished after a moment.

But Boromir's brow furrowed slightly nevertheless, as he repeated, somewhat tautly, "I had thought I could please you at least tonight, and then sleep. I'm sorry to have troubled you for naught."

"Lad, trouble me all you like—'tis not that. I meant that you need not force yourself with me only because I am here. If you wish to sleep soundly for once, you have only to say it. I can keep you company in that as well, if you wish," Andrahar replied. And his voice hardened noticeably as he continued, "And in the future, you tell me what you want. You are not here to play only to what you imagine I desire or even what I do desire; if I wished for that in a lover, I could have my pick of lads at The Fairweather."

There was a profound and uncomfortable silence after that, until Boromir said once more, and softly, "I'm sorry, Andra."

With a sigh of his own, Andrahar laid a hand gently on Boromir's shoulder, and when the other allowed that, slipped it around his back in a somewhat awkward, if firm, embrace. "Go to sleep, Boromir," he urged, in a much gentler tone. "You've enough on your mind; we can speak further of this tomorrow."

Boromir gave a soft grunt, and obeyed with that swiftness that ever warrior develops with time. Andrahar sighed once more, as he drew Boromir a bit closer. Gently stroking the other's hair, he stared past his lover at the wall even as thought crowded out vision. _Ah, lad, what is it that troubles you?_ he wondered. For certain he was now that his feeling of the night before had not been mistaken. But inquiries would wait—he would not wake Boromir now to demand answers, for truly, it had been an exhausting and frustrating day in council. _Tomorrow_ , Andrahar decided, brushing a light kiss against Boromir's brow ere he settled himself for the night. _I'll ask him tomorrow._ And worried though he was for the lad, he had but to close his eyes and his dreams took him.


	2. Resolutions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because without it, love is meaningless.

However, the next day dawned to an empty bedBoromir had left early and without waking him, even as Andrahar had done the day before. Thus the Armsmaster had no opportunity to question him before the council convened, for though he did make a point of searching for Boromir, he did not find him until just before the bells rang to signal the start of the session. Boromir and Golasgil had had their heads bent close then, clearly in deepand somewhat tense, Andrahar notedconversation. Had it been Imrahil, he might have approached, for the Prince hid nothing from him, and if Boromir did have some specific worry about the council, surely Imrahil ought to be privy to it. However, Golasgil would hardly look kindly upon his interruption, and Andrahar had no intention of speaking with the man if it were avoidablebetter for all if Golasgil had little opportunity to remember another reason to resist Imrahil's proposals. 

The council's arguments, as before, took up much of the dayindeed, Imrahil seemed to be taking the opportunity to hold Yuletide Court early, and why not? Given that he aimed to restructure much of the economy and defenses around the assumption that war would come within the next five to ten years, there was no point in waiting another six months to begin speaking of such things, especially not when the war season proper was still young. Andrahar was only glad that even captains could not miraculously maintain their condition without effort; afternoon arms practice gave him some means of venting his frustrations, to the discomfiture of his sparring partners, who made their acquaintance with the ground often and with great force. Then it was off for a swift bath and a change into clean livery, just in time for the interminable state dinner, which left Andrahar with a fervent gratitude that his place was below the salt, where he had only to make conversation with Peloren and a few other captains of Dol Amroth and their wives. Peloren's presence in particular made that almost too easy a matter, given that Andrahar was curious to know how the esquires were conducting themselves in his absence. Indeed, the only difficulty there was restraint in the presence of others. 

"Why not come with me to the _Harp and Sails_ , captain?" Peloren asked, when at last they rose to excuse themselves from the hall. "We could talk there of the esquires without troubling others."

A glance at the high table showed that neither Imrahil nor Boromir looked likely to leave any time soon. "Very well," he replied. And so he spent the remainder of the evening in Peloren's company, and the company of a few other officers of the Swan Knights who tended to frequent that tavern, discussing the esquires' exploits andsince it was the news of the daywhat might need to be changed in the training regime if they were to increase the number of knights in the field within a year or two. By the time Andrahar sought his bed, it was late, and he still had not spoken with Boromir. _Tomorrow,_ he told himself again, for surely the Steward's Heir was asleep by now. 

But again the next day, there seemed to be no time, no opportune moment to pull Boromir aside. And in fact, the next day after that was the same. It seemed that fate conspired such that Boromir was always in another's companyif not Imrahil's, then Golasgil's as often as not, much to Andrahar's irritation. _Or else that Boromir conspires,_ Andrahar thought unhappily, even as he attempted to maintain a reasonable regard for the whole affair. Golasgil was, after all, one of the more recalcitrant lords in this matter, resisting both Imrahil's and Boromir's proposals and arguments, it seemed, at every turn. Since Denethor had always been a man to heed the adage that a lord should keep his friends close and his enemies closer, and Boromir had ever been an apt pupil, his association with the man made sense. And it was not as if a certain distance from each other was unwarranted. _It may be nothing more than caution,_ reason argued, _if it is indeed anything more than a fancy of my own making. Boromir knows to be careful in our affairsit would not do to give anyone cause to think he likes me too well, given our stations in life._

Still, as Andrahar lay staring up at the ceiling of his room that night, he could not help but feel that the other was deliberately avoiding him, and not simply due to caution or politics. Reason could argue all it liked without quelling doubt, for Boromir knew he had wanted to speak with him, and yet had done nothing to acknowledge that. That sense of unease he had felt after that first night together began to wax, and to attain a more definite form, as Boromir's words whispered incessantly in memory: ' _I should not underestimate the desire for vengeance among Gondorians. You of all people should know better... You of all people... You never fear for anything, do you?'_ Andrahar frowned. By himself, he had not the means to uncover the thought lurking behind Boromir's odd suggestion about the vengeful appetites of the lords of Gondor, but there was something _personal_ in those words, and it troubled him that he could not discern the other's intent in so addressing him. For thinking over that strange conversation, it seemed to him that he had overlooked something vital, that Boromir had, in an odd way, been testing him... and that he had failed the test, whatever it was. 

__

That vexed himit was not simply that Andrahar was not one to accept failure, but he did not care to be manipulated so, particularly not in bed. If he had done aught to offend or trouble Boromir, he would have it plainly put to him. And although he was not one to pry into another's private affairs, particularly not when that other was also the Steward's Heir, who might be troubled by many things he could not share with a lover, even if that lover were senior captain to one of the most powerful men in Gondor, still he wished Boromir would say whether something of that nature had disturbed him so. Andrahar's entire existence had been shaped by the turmoil of the politics of some of the mighty in two lands; he understood the need for discretion, and felt reasonably certain that even if such matters did somehow attach to him, he could rest content simply with knowing that for a fact, even if the matter was never explained to him beyond that. 

__

We must speak, then, before he leaves again for Minas Tirith, Andrahar thought, even as he shut his eyes and willed himself to sleep. _For if this matter, whatever it is, upsets him so that he does not wish to see me further, then I would hear it from him._

***

The last day of tedious guard duty for the Prince's council began inauspiciously, as one of the unpredictable summer storms blew in from across the bay, drenching Dol Amroth. Andrahar, who had long since outgrown his fascination with Gondor's much more extreme seasons and weather, but who had most emphatically not outgrown the superstition proper to any warrior so long-lived as he, hoped that it did not mean the council would end with as violent a disagreement as the sea and shore seemed to be having. As grueling as the past three days had been, Imrahil and Boromir between them had managed to bring the lords about to the consideration of the measures they had proposed, and it would be more than a pity if negotiations failed at the last moment. 

Fortunately, it seemed the storm had little effect upon the council, or else that bad weather balanced out good deliberations. Even Golasgil appeared to have resigned himself to being useful. "He ought to have," Imrahil remarked later to his friend and bodyguard, as he hurriedly changed into a dress tunic that evening. "Boromir certainly spent enough time bargaining for his support. I doubt me the Steward of Gondor shall be pleased to hear that Anfalas will be charging more for timber in the future, but if it means the man shall be a help rather than a hindrance, and that he shall not object to the Steward's new tax schedule, Denethor may yet thank us all."

"He shall at least thank Boromir and Golasgil, and possibly the Corsairs," Andrahar replied, and Imrahil chuckled. 

"Naturally. Well," Imrahil said, turning towards him as he settled the princely coronet upon his head, "at least this is the last state dinner either of us shall have to endure for a time. Planning to escape early, as you did last time?"

"I prefer to avoid the political indigestion, as well you know," Andrahar replied, a smile quirking his mouth. 

"Then I shall bid you a good night, and talk with you tomorrow after you have had your fill of tormenting the esquires." At Andrahar's indignant protest, the Prince only grinned and replied, "Until tomorrow, Andra."

"Good night, Imri," the Armsmaster replied, and made his way to the door. But just ere he reached it, he paused, and glanced back over his shoulder. "My prince?"

"Yes?"

"Do you think the lords will hold to the decrees they signed today?"

Imrahil frowned, clearly taken somewhat aback by this question. "They swore to do so, and I think they understand now the need for the unhappy reforms we are imposing. Why do you ask, Andra?"

"I merely wondered whether the increased numbers of Swan Knight patrols that we have agreed to, in addition to promising more naval patrols, were meant to serve a second purposeto hold them in line," Andrahar replied, thinking quickly. "And Boromir had been spending such time with Golasgil..."

"Well, of course, the Swan Knights have ever reported anything suspicious to us, and admittedly, they will serve as a reminder that we are upholding our end of the plan. But you know that such business is more properly Elphir's," the prince said. For Elphir had taken over the running of Dol Amroth's intelligence web, both foreign and domestic some years ago, and was proving adept at it. "As for Golasgil, we deemed it better Boromir deal with him than I. He may not break his word with us, but it would have taken longer to extract it from him in the first place, as well you know. Old grudges do not die swiftly." Andrahar nodded, and shrugged slightly, seeing Imrahil still looking quizzically at him, and not without cause, for truthfully, it had been a poor excuse to invoke for such a question. "Are you certain that that is all, Andra? Is there something I should know?"

The Captain of the Swan Knights considered the possibility of lying outright, of saying that of course it was nothing and to excuse himself on the basis of weariness. But that would be unwise, for not only would the Prince disbelieve such an excuse, the issue being no matter of private concern, Imrahil would be within his rights to order him to speak for the good of all concerned. But he absolutely did not wish to bring Boromir's name into this, if he could help it, for that might well rouse Imrahil's curiosity, and if _that_ happened... well, it was _conceivable_ that Imrahil might tumble to their relationship if given reason to wonder when they met privately to speak of such matters, and there was no point in inviting such a risk. And so he said instead, "Most likely not. My prince, give me tonight, and tomorrow, I promise, I shall say whether there is aught more to be said."

Imrahil frowned thoughtfully, brow furrowing, and for a moment, Andrahar feared he would ask further. But then the Prince nodded, and said, "Your judgment has always been good where matters of loyalty are concerned. Unsurprising, really." Imrahil gave him a slight smile. "Take the night. And take care in your inquiries."

"Thank you, my lord. And I shall," Andrahar replied, relieved. And so he made Imrahil a bow, then, and took his leave. _So Boromir has not spoken to his Uncle about his apparent fears,_ the Armsmaster thought, as he made his reluctant way to the great hall for a final check of security arrangements there before he would have to ready himself to join the guests a little later. Andrahar had been nearly certain that he had not, for he had been present to listen to their discussions often enough to notice the silence on that matter; and as Imrahil's chief bodyguard and Captain of the Swan Knights, he was guaranteed to know of any matter that might affect the safety of his Prince and the enforcement of his decrees throughout his demesne. Nevertheless, Imrahil's unwitting confirmation of that ought to make his task that night simpler, which was welcome. Simpler, that is, if only Boromir would take up the invitation that Andrahar had sent earlier that day to Boromir's quarters:

__

My lord,

I regret we have not had time to continue our discussion of our mutual defenses. Call upon me at home tonight, if you will, or else name a convenient hour and place when we may speak together of this unfinished business.

Andrahar

***

Despite his efforts to extricate himself early from the company in the hall, it was much later that night that Andrahar made his way from the castle proper to his own house. Dinner, fortunately, had been a less contentious affair than it had been since the council had begun, which had made it somewhat more palatable as well. And since Boromir had been trapped in conversation with one of the more ambitious young women of Dol Amroth and her equally ambitious father, Andrahar could at least be assured that his own delayed departure would not affect their meeting, always assuming Boromir chose to come. What he would do if Boromir did not come... well, he had never had overmuch use for those unwilling to face up to problems, much though it pained him to think so of Boromir. 

It was raining again when he left, which at least made the air feel less heavy and even lent a slight chill to the night. The Armsmaster drew his hood up and pulled his cloak close about him, dodging puddles as he wended his way through the darkened streets of the city. Once he had reached his house and closed out the world beyond his door, Andrahar shed cloak, tabard and his boots, and padded about the house, laying fires to warm it. When he had done that, and spread his wet garments to dry over the mantle in his bedroom, he returned to the sitting room. There, he withdrew his sword, carefully inspecting the steel for any hint of dampness. When he had satisfied himself that no water had found its way into the sheath, he eyed the edge, tested it gently with a thumb and was pleased by the tiny red beads that showed against his skin. After a quick swipe with an oilrag to get any trace of blood off the blade, he resheathed the sword and set it in its place in the weapons rack. 

And then he found himself with time heavy on his hands. Swordsman that he was, he was always careful to keep his weapons in good condition, and he knew that none of the daggers were in need of any attention. What, then, to do for the rest of the evening? Glancing about, his eye fell upon a slender volume, bound in blue leather, that lay upon a small table beneath the high-set windows. Silver lettering, scripted after Haradric style, spelled out the title _The Tale of Asinyal and Kedara, A Poem of the Haradrim._ On impulse, Andrahar went and retrieved it, though he took care to wrap his injured thumb in a handkerchief before touching the pages. 

The title page repeated what was on the cover, but in more brilliantly decorative style, and also bore a dedicatory inscription _Amends for the 'wretched stuff'. Many thanks, brotherImri, Midsummer's Day, 2986_. Something suspiciously like a smile curved Andrahar's lips. The tale of Asinyal and Kedara had always been a favorite of his, one of the few memories of his distant homeland that was pure pleasure, with naught of pain or even regret attached to it, unless it were that not every love had such depth to it, nor faced the world so bravely. Imrahil had chosen wisely when commissioning the gift, for Andrahar never tired of it. 

And so after lighting a few more lanterns, he settled himself in a chair with the book, and promptly lost himself in the flow of words and feeling. So deeply immersed in the tale was he that he almost missed the sound of a key in the lock. Almost. And although he knew, with a certain relief, who it must be, he nevertheless carefully flexed a wrist, feeling the weight of the dagger up his sleeve, ready for use should it prove necessary. He waited patiently, listening to the sounds of someone removing his cloak, to the footsteps in the hall that ceased suddenly when the other reached the sitting room. And after a certain interval of silence, a throat cleared, and Boromir asked, "Is the dagger truly necessary, Andra?" 

"Habit," Andrahar replied laconically. But he did close the book and rise, giving the slight bulge beneath his sleeve a pat to resettle the weapon firmly in its sheath. "You needn't hover on the threshold, lad." Boromir gave a short bark of laughter as he entered the room, but it was a rather sharper look than was his wont that he cast over Andrahar, before he glanced at the book. 

"What's this? Has Faramir corrupted you, then?" he asked, mouth quirking slightly.

"Hardly," Andrahar replied, with a roll of his eyes. But then on impulse he proffered it to Boromir. "However, you might find this particular verse most stirring,"

"What is it?" the other asked, accepting it with a puzzled frown.

"One of our more famous romantic epics. Courage in love and war is the themea useful meditation, would you not say?" the Armsmaster replied. Boromir's eyes narrowed slightly as he glanced up from flipping through the pages. Andrahar raised a brow, hoping that would suffice as a prompt to speak of that very subject between the two of them. But after a moment, his lover went back to examining the volume, declining, apparently, to take up that invitation. And Andrahar cursed himself inwardly, for of all strategies, this was least likely to work and he knew it. _We are neither of us Faramir, after all. Besides which, you were upset about Boromir keeping things from you or speaking only obliquelydo not do the same yourself, then,_ he berated himself.And so he let it drop, save to admonish Boromir: "But read it in Haradricsome of your translators are overly sensitive in addition to having a tin ear for poetry; Asinyal is _not_ a woman disguised as a man, seeking to win her beloved's admiration in battle."

"Perhaps I will read it, then," Boromir replied, giving it a final, cursory glance, before he set it aside in a manner that suggested poetry was the furthest thing from his mind at the moment. "You wished to see me?" he asked then, in a refreshingly forthright manner. 

"Yes, I did. We never had the chance to finish our... conversation... of the other night," the Armsmaster replied. And although Boromir seemed unsurpriseddespite the fact that he was ever one to tease Faramir for his love of the written word, he was hardly untutored in the art of reading between lineshis eyes darkened appreciably. It was not the darkness of arousal, which Andrahar had come to know in the past years, but rather a certain gravity of gaze that reminded him more of Faramir in a brooding mood than of anyone else. 

"Is there more to say, Andra? My mind was on the council, and I was thoughtless with you. I am sorry for that," Boromir replied after a moment. 

"I do not doubt that you were preoccupied, but I doubt by the council alone," Andrahar said, raising a brow.

"I told you I was concerned about"

"Yes, about the vengeful appetites of the lords of Gondor," Andrahar cut him off sharply, and shook his head. "Lad, I spoke with your Uncleyou never brought up such concerns as you voiced to me that night. Your father and mother did not raise fools, and so I'll thank you not to make yourself one in my presence. If you were truly concerned about such, you would have spoken to the Prince about the matter. And so I ask now: what is it that's troubled you, for it seems to me I've something to do with it and I would remedy it if I were able."

At that, Boromir had the good grace to flush a bit, and he folded his arms across his chest, staring down at the floor. Eventually, he sighed softly, and said, without looking up, "Not every trouble is worth the sharing, especially between lovers."

"Lad, continue on this path, and you'll have no need to concern yourself with what should be between lovers," Andrahar warned. "I've had my share of deceit between the bedsheets, and I'll have no more of it."

That earned him an incensed lookBoromir had ever been quick to insult where his honor was concernedbut after a moment, the anger faded. Or rather, it shifted, somehow, and Andrahar narrowed his eyes, wondering, as Boromir drew a deep breath and turned away, pacing a slow, curving circuit. When he paused, Andrahar turned to find him leaning both hands against the mantle, head bowed as he stared at the hearthstones in an unfocused manner. At length, Boromir asked softly, "When you lie with me, Andra, whom do you see?"

Andrahar blinked, surprised, and for a long while, he said nothing, caught between shock, outrage at the very implication that Boromir seemed to be making, and the realization that if indeed this were the heart of the matter, then they had a very grave problem, for anyone who would know of Andrahar's relationship with Boromir well enough to spread such a lie was a threat to them both. Even if Boromir had simply overheard some slanderous rumor about him, then the privacy of Andrahar's affairs at least was compromised. And that would make it unsafe for Boromir to continue seeing him, regardless of the falsity of such rumors. And if that were so, then despite the slur to his own honor, he owed Boromir the most serious attention. _Could it be someone on the council? Golasgil, even? That would explain that concern about vengeance...._ Even as his mind raced through the possible sources of such a rumor, he replied, in as steady a voice as he could manage, "I see you. I do not know what you have seen or heard to make you doubt my fidelity, but if you have some cause"

"This has naught to do with fidelity," Boromir interrupted him, pushing away from the hearth to turn and face him.

"It doesn't?" Andrahar asked, confused. 

"My apologies, but no, this is between us." Boromir began to pace again, while Andrahar made an effort to control his temper. Deprived of a _good_ reason to endure any such ambiguous questioning, he suddenly found himself angry at the very fact of that ambiguity _What is this about, if not that? And why speak so unclearly?_ Of a sudden, he felt Boromir's hands on his shoulders, and the warmth of the other at his back. Andrahar stiffened uncomfortably, and Boromir's hands tightened in return, which rather made his flesh crawl, Andrahar never having been one to feel at ease in a tense situation with someone behind him. "Please do not take this ill, Andra, but are you certain you see no one other than me?"

Drawing a deep breath, Andrahar answered, in a rather curt tone of voice, "Whom should I see, if not you?"

"I don't know. Someone you are frightened of, perhaps?" 

At that, Andrahar went very stillindeed, he found himself holding his breath and had consciously to let it out. "Someone _I_ am frightened of?" he repeated after a long moment of silence. "Who wouldBoromir, I will not have this conversation with my back to a man!" he said sharply, when the other tried to prevent him turning. At that, Boromir released him, and as soon as he had, Andrahar turned to face him. Boromir met his eyes without flinching, at least, which mollified Andrahar somewhat. Enough so that it was with more exasperation than ire that he asked at last, "What is this about, lad?" And when Boromir did not immediately reply, but only ducked his head, cheeks flushed with what seemed like shame, he prompted, "Boromir?"

"Six years ago, when I came to you for help, you asked me to put myself in your hands. I have done that, have I not?" Boromir asked, glancing up at the end.

"You have," Andrahar admitted, but narrowed his eyes, uncertain whither this led. "I do not see"

"I had no choice at the timeso I felt, for what did I know? And I had imposed upon you for a favor you might have denied. But afterwards, I held to that still, without question, out of love rather than my own ignorance or sense of debt. There are few others for whom I would do such a thing, and fewer even who would do such for meeven among family, there are few things that are not questioned at some point. You know this." Andrahar nodded, slowly, thinking of his latest talk with Imrahil, and Boromir, after a moment's hesitation continued. "It is simply... I need an end to that somewhere. There's not a lord in Gondor I couldn't give good reason to mistrust me for what I, as my father's son, know of himyes, even Imrahil. Even Faramir, and certainly my father. I made certain Golasgil knew it yestereve."

"So that is why he was suddenly so cooperative today," Andrahar murmured, and Boromir nodded. 

"I do what I must, as my father's heir in all things. But I tire of it. I tire of mistrusting all, and I dislike most of all being mistrusted," he concluded softly. And at that moment, a number of things fell suddenly into place for Andrahar. On the one hand, it seemed almost incredible, but on the other... in light of everything just said... in light of all the odd things he had noticed that week and endured not moments before... _'You asked me to put myself in your hands'... 'I know I should allow that, but...'_ In memory, his hand ghosted over Boromir's flesh, and then Boromir turned away... ' _I'm not quite in the mood'..._

"Lad," he said, with a gentleness that surprised even himself, "are you telling me that you think I mistrust you because I will not let you take me?"

Boromir shrugged uncomfortably, seeming suddenly unwilling to speak. But after a moment, he replied, "What should I think, if the thought of my doing so brings nothing to mind but those who used you ill? You would have let Uncle, you said. I am not he, but am I so little different from those others? Or... I know you think better than that, but...." He floundered a moment, then sighed, a sharp, frustrated sound, ere he shook his head and began again, the words coming now as if with great care. "I wish only to know if you see something in me, that you cannot trust me as I have trusted you."

Andrahar drew a deep breath, then let it out, as he folded his arms across his chest and stared down at the floor, thinking. At length, he looked back up, meeting Boromir's gaze steadily, and replied, "If I thought you were untrustworthy, I would never have lain down with you in the first place, Boromir. However, it is true that a man is most honest in his actions, not his words."

"Then you do distrust me."

"Not for anything that you have done," Andrahar assured him quickly. 

"But nevertheless..." Boromir trailed off, and raised a brow at him pointedly; Andrahar sighed. 

"Yes, nevertheless," he admitted, gruffly. With a shake of his head, he added heavily, "I am sorry, Boromir."

"Do you wish to end this, then?" Boromir asked, after a moment. And there was something about his voice that touched a nervean odd note, as of anticipation, as if Boromir were holding his breath... _As if he half expects I will say 'yes',_ the thought occurred, suddenly, and he realized, to his shame, that he was not untempted to say just that. It would be simpler, certainly, easier, in a pair of lives that were already complicated enough, to end matters. _And yet_... 'Closed rooms'he had told Imrahil that he dreamed of them, and yet in truth, he knew very well that he lived in them, too. From some deep-seated level came a sudden awareness that here was a chance to open them, to be free of them at last, and that such a chance would not come again. _For Boromir stands second only to Imrahil where my heart is concerned, yet even Imrahil cannot do this thing for me. And surely if he means aught to me, I should do this for him._ For now the choice was before him, it would be cowardly for the man he was to fail to lay to rest a boy who, truth be told, ought to have died long ago...

And so it was with a note of challenge, not simply for Boromir, but for himself, that Andrahar replied, "Come with me." Without waiting to see whether Boromir obeyed or not, he turned and made his way down the hall, noting the brief hesitation ere he heard the other fall into step behind him. They had not far to gothe bedroom was the first door off the corridor, and although the fire in the hearth burned low, the lamp that he had lit earlier and set upon the corner of the mantelpiece burned brightly enough. Retrieving it from its place, Andrahar set it down upon the table at the bedside, then turned to Boromir, whose expression was hooded. 

Stepping in close, then, he said in a low voice, "There are two things you will need to know: firstly, you may need to hold me downI cannot guarantee that I might not hurt you otherwise. Secondly, I need to see youI've done this too often on my knees to risk it with you."

Boromir passed a hand over his eyes, then pinched the bridge of his nose in a gesture reminiscent of his father, and ended by covering his mouth. After a moment, he lifted his chin slightly, letting his hand slip a bit further, and it was with troubled eyes that he said then: "Andra, if you are doing this only because you believe I _want_ you to"

"I will do this because I wish to, Boromir," Andrahar cut him off, his tone of voice leaving no room to doubt his sincerity. "And because you were right to say that I have asked much of you, without trusting you as I ought. That _is_ shameful, and certainly should not be between lovers."

Nevertheless, Boromir folded his arms across his chest, seeming suddenly very nervous indeed, as he temporized: "Are you certain? I know your reasons for refusing all these years are hardly light. And... I am not always the most gentle of lovers. Perhaps it would be better to let it go." 

Andrahar raised a brow, eyeing Boromir closely. At length, he reached up and laid his hands on Boromir's shoulders, kneading gently a moment, ere he let his fingers trail up the sides of Boromir's neck, 'til he had his face cupped in his hands. Drawing Boromir down, he kissed himat first gently, and then more deeply, and with increasing passion, eventually slipping a hand down between their bodies, between Boromir's legs. Boromir groaned into his mouth as Andrahar's deft fingers stroked him hard... until suddenly, Andrahar's hand darted upward

and with a yelp, Boromir reacted impulsively, catching Andrahar's wrist and shoving him down onto his back, pinning him to keep him from tickling. He half expected Andrahar to turn them again, for the Armsmaster was quick, and a veritable treasury of tricks to escape the grip of a larger opponent. Instead, Boromir found himself eye to eye, with his lover beneath him and gazing steadily back at him, despite a telling tightness to his mouth that bespoke both anxiety and determination. Boromir had been prepared to dismiss such, for he'd more than sufficient evidence that determination was not enough to make men (or women) suited to each other in this most intimate of settings. But dark eyes stayed his tongue, compelling him to remain. As inscrutable as they usually were, there were times when something in that unfathomable gaze lightened: draped over Andrahar as he was, he could feel his arousal, feel the swift beat of his heart, and it was not simply determination that shone in those eyes, as Andrahar murmured:

"Ungentle you may be, but you can't hurt _me_ , ladI'd not let you. Now I'm decided, 'tis your turn: say whether you wish to end this, or not. Only promise me one thing, Boromir."

"What is that?" Boromir asked, somewhat hoarsely, so incredulous was he. 

Andrahar twisted his wrist, freeing himself from the lock Boromir had on it, and he reached up to touch Boromir's face. Fingers threaded back through his hair to tangle themselves in it at the nape of his neck, drawing him closer still, 'til Andrahar pressed cheek to cheek with him. "Whatever it be, don't give way on your desire," he whispered, and then lips brushed hot and light over the pulsepoint of Boromir's throat as his lover released him and lay waiting. 

Boromir shivered, drawing back somewhat to stare down at him, scrutinizing Andrahar's face for any trace of uncertainty. But he found none. Anxiety, yeseven a touch of fear, which he had never seen on him before, and it struck him forcibly then that despite being fully clothed, in that moment, Andrahar lay naked to him as he never had before. Boromir's tongue wanted to cleave to the roof of his mouth, and a part of his mindthe part that had dwelt in misery since Lossarnach, that had come seeking, he realized, an escape from this affair, convinced it could come to naught good in the end for nothing good ever came to those who allowed Boromir so close to themwailed in bewilderment that this was not how things were supposed to have gonethat if they could not continue as they had, then it should have ended ten minutes ago. A feeling like anger threatened to overwhelm him, but something stilled it. Perhaps it was desire making itself known at long last; or perhaps it was the part of him where lay his sense of justice, that insisted that a show of such courage should not be spurned, but matched. 

Whatever it was, of a sudden, his half-accusing words came back to him, and it was not without irony that he replied, "You never fear for anything, do you?" Andrahar said nothing, only quirked a brow at him, awaiting his decision. Boromir shook his head and sat up, considering his lover. And then he reached for the pillow.

"I think I like you well where you are," he said, tucking the pillow under Andrahar's back. And when Andrahar sucked in a breath as Boromir lightly stroked along his groin, teasing him through the cloth, "And I think I like you as you are." He gave Andrahar a slight, wicked smile as he said, punctuating his words by popping the buttons one by one on the other's trousers: "So... let us see about finishing... or at least furthering... our... 'interrupted'... business"the buttons now undone, Boromir hooked his fingers into the waistband of both trousers and underdrawers and pulled, baring Andrahar to his appreciative gaze. Glancing back up, he caught and held the other's eyes, as he finished softly: "And then we shall see where that leads us..."

***

It was nearly pitch dark when Boromir awoke suddenly later that night. The hearth embers glowed feebly, but cast no light upon aught else. Rain beat upon the roof, a constant patter that nevertheless did not disturb the stillness of the night. Disoriented, Boromir rolled onto his side... and encountered another body beside him. "Andra," he whispered, as memory came flooding back. Andrahar gave a soft, sleepy grunt, but then settled again, sighing as he turned unconsciously towards Boromir. Boromir gently drew him close into the circle of his arms, tucking the other's head under his chin, as unbidden, the midnight thoughts tumbled through his mind.

When they had first become lovers, he had wondered whether he had always sought Andrahar, in some sensewhether it had been inevitable that he should have desired him. There was, he supposed, no real answer to such a question, but certainly he had always been fascinated by his uncle's outland captain. But even boyish idolization had ever been tempered by an awarenesswordless at first, but growing gradually more definite as the years had worn onthat here was someone he could rely upon for something that others, however much they cared for him, might not always give. There were few men so honest, or so insistent upon honesty, as the Armsmaster, and unlike his father, who was certainly a master of politics and not one to spare harsh judgment at need, the truth was never a matter for manipulation with Andrahar. An uncomfortable companion it made him, but Boromir would not have foregone that companionship for the world.

And so he was glad, all things said and sifted, that Andrahar had apparently thought the samehad found something worthwhile enough in the fragile relationship they had to wish to sustain it, and to do more than simply wish, but to take the risk needed to preserve it, and to challenge Boromir as well, though Andrahar might never realize precisely what he had done. Indeed, _must_ not ever realize it. _Were he ever to learn about Father and Mother..._ Haradrim that Andrahar was, vengeance would be had, and Boromir shivered slightly. It was not simply that he had no wish to become Steward ahead of his time, but the thought of presiding over the trial that would follow was nauseating. 

__

And so the secrets accumulate, Boromir thought, not without a sense of bitter irony. _I can never explain fully why it should matter so to me that he do this one thinga simple thing, really, and truly, nearly a mindless thing for most outside of Harad, a matter of fancy_. And yet not for him, nor, as it happened, for Andrahar. It was a subject of morbid fascination how the inconsequentials of life were transformed into weights that even all the rock of Orodruin could not equal. It was also somewhat humiliating. _We like to think that we are driven only by matters of import, and yet the trivial and the profound so often come linked. But perhaps it is for the best,_ he reflected. _Were it not, how many of us would rise to the challenge of action?_ Certainly, he had not conducted himself with much merit with Andrahar; indeed, the best that he could say of himself in the end was that confronted with the note the Armsmaster had sent, he had acknowledged the only barely veiled demand and come. So perhaps he was not wholly a coward. And he had been as honest as he could be, without revealing the origins of his unease.

Yet the price of that reticence had its measure in the doubt that lingered over whether he would make an even tolerable husband. Or perhaps that was foolish? _Perhaps I should doubt still even had I confessed everything,_ he thought, unhappily. _Such an admission would, after all, change nothing. There would be still the letter between Father and me... my weapon of last resort._ He supposed he ought to resign himself better to the burden of those who would rule. If he could not, however, he ought at least to hide his resentment better. _For you will resent it the more if your own poor skill as a player leads Father to question you,_ the voice of prudence warned. _Give him reason to question, and you know disclosure will follow. Honesty is well and good in smaller matters, but if you would have this thing remain unused, best you reconcile yourself to lie a little and more gladly at that! Aught else is just woolgathering, and selfish indulgence!_ It was all terribly logical, yet even accepting it, Boromir sighed softly to himself. _My 'inheritance' is paid in many an ill-minted coin, no matter which way I turn. And a lie now and for the next twenty years is still no guarantee that I will never have need to use that letter..._

It was enough to make an honorable man despair. But if the safety of father and future wife remained in question, at the least, he was certain enough now that Andrahar was safe with him... and that _he_ was safe with Andrahar. ' _You can't hurt_ me _, lad'would I believe any other who said so?_ Boromir wondered. Perhaps fortune sometimes _did_ match men to each other's needs. For although he had known a moment of guilt-stricken fear when, in the shaky aftermath of pleasure, he had looked down and seen Andrahar beneath him, eyes closed, sweat beaded on his brow and lip, seeming for all the world as if he _were_ in pain, the other's words had reassured him. 

"I will not say I enjoyed it, Boromir," Andrahar had said in response to his anxious inquiries. But then dark eyes had caught his, a ghost of a smile had touched his lover's lips and fingertips had brushed Boromir's face, as he had finished, "But I think with time, I might learn to." And with the council of Western Gondor now in line behind Imrahil, short of the decision of the Dark Lord himself to wage war, they might now have that time. _And may it be a long time, indeed!_ A strange wishhe had never been one to shrink from war, for who could rest content when Mordor still stood? Perhaps it was selfish indulgence again, despite the fact that he knew very well that Gondor needed more time if it were to face the Dark Lord's armies on anything like threatening terms. But selfish or not, he would rest content, _well_ content, that this one part of his life was untouched by the constant trial that was life in the shadow of the Dark Lord. 

With a final sigh, Boromir kissed Andrahar's hair and closed his eyes, and let the drum of the rain on the roof lull him to sleep once more.

***

The docks at Harlond were busy, crowded with merchants and the armed escorts who now sailed with them in convoy, when the Captain-General returned from Dol Amroth, bearing news of the council that had been held there. The Steward and his advisors had listened carefully to his account, and, when they had satisfied themselves that all was well in hand, had let out a collective sigh of relief. And not simply for the good news out of Dol Amroth's council. 

For the councilors had not attended only to the Captain-General's report, but to the manner in which he comported himself towards his lord father. He had been cool enough throughout the meeting, and afterwards, when the Steward had drawn him aside, many had been the councilor who found an excuse to shuffle and reshuffle his notes, covertly eavesdropping. And although none could hear their murmured words, at length, much to the relief of all, Boromir had chuckled softly, and, squeezing his father's shoulder, had said, "Indeed, I do, Father. Indeed, I do."

The storm, it seemed, had passed. 


End file.
